


you can make all the moves, you can aim all the spotlights

by blackwood (transjon)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Double Penetration, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay, Pining, Subspace, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: “The door isopen,” Martin says helplessly, like it’s his most pressing concern about the situation. “Why is it open?”Tim waves his hand at him dismissively. “Oh, you can lock it, that’s fine.”
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 338





	you can make all the moves, you can aim all the spotlights

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a little less sixteen candles a little more touch my body by fall out boy WOOF
> 
> the only genitalia related word used here is cock ft me dancing delicately around using any sort of words for any of the other bits

Martin opens Jon’s office door and immediately freezes in the spot.

“Come in,” Tim says, way too casual, as if Jon isn’t sitting in his lap, naked, split open on Tim’s cock. 

“The door is _open_,” Martin says helplessly, like it’s his most pressing concern about the situation. “Why is it open?”

Tim waves his hand at him dismissively. “Oh, you can lock it, that’s fine.” 

Martin sputters. “That’s hardly the _point_.”

Tim bucks his hips up into Jon, unbothered. “This wasn’t exactly planned, sorry about that.”

Martin’s brain is short-circuiting slightly. He should be backing out of the door. He should be asking _what the fuck is going on_. He should be leaving. 

“How long,” he asks instead, “how long have you –”

Tim smiles at that. “Oh,” he says, “I don’t know. A while.” Every segment of the sentence is accentuated with a pointed thrust of his hips. 

And Martin’s heart sinks, just a little bit, this bitter disappointment and jealousy brewing inside of him. Figures. He hadn’t expected it to be _Tim_ that Jon would date, or, whatever this relationship of theirs is, but he’d figured someone else would, uh, woo him first. Shows him where he stands, he guesses. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” Tim says, conversationally, “I don’t mean to be selfish. Uh, we can resituate, if you’d like to have his arsehole.”

“His – what?”

Tim makes a face. “I mean we could share, I guess, it’s just, he’s kind of tight. I don’t think that’d work out. Maybe another time. Or later, if you give me a few minutes.”

Martin feels shaky. This is just – this is way too much. He came in to _offer tea_, not fuck his boss, or watch his friend fuck his boss, or fuck his boss _with_ his friend. This is surreal. He feels lightheaded, and then he suddenly realizes Jon has yet to speak. “Are you okay, Jon?” 

Jon exhales a long, shaky breath, and Tim grumbles “of course he’s okay, what do you think about me, Martin? Just because I don’t _like him_ doesn’t mean I’ll _hurt_ him,” but he stills his hips anyway. “Hey, pup, you okay?” he asks. Jon nods laboriously, and Tim tweaks one of his nipples with his index and middle finger, says “use your words, please.”

“Yes,” Jon says, with some effort. Martin can see Tim grind the heel of his other hand down on Jon’s cock as a reward. Jon bucks his hips and keens, and Tim looks thoroughly satisfied with himself. Martin looks away, suddenly embarrassed.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. He had meant it, a little bit. Not that he’d thought Tim would hurt anyone on purpose. Just – Jon looks so out of it, in Tim’s lap, shaky and flushed. He looks good, he can’t deny that, it’s just that it’s the first time he’s ever seen Jon _not_ snarky and straight-laced and annoyed. It’s weird.

“Want to join in?” Tim asks again, “or you could have his mouth, too, if you’d like that better. He’s pretty good at sucking cock. Jon, do you want Martin to fuck you as well?”

There’s a horrible silence where Jon struggles to open his mouth, but he manages it, and he sounds earnest when he says “yes.”

“You heard the man,” Tim says, “are you going to lock the door or not?”

He could leave. He could still leave. He could say “no thank you” and walk out and make his tea and sit in the break room and stare at the wall and pretend he’s not thinking about it, pretend he’s not hard, think about ghosts and worms and whatever disgusting things he can dig out of his memory until he can stand up again. He thinks about doing it. It’d be so easy. The door is right there. 

Instead he reaches for the door handle. The lock clicks with satisfying certainty when it latches shut, and Jon moans almost in unison with the sound of it. When he looks at them Tim is smiling. “Good choice,” he says. “Come on.”

Tim is still wearing his shirt and shoes, and Martin wonders if he should strip to the same level as well. Just his trousers and underwear off, all impersonal and casual, with Jon naked and vulnerable, just in his socks. A clear imbalance. He takes his trousers off and pauses there. He figures he can take the rest off when he’s actually close enough to touch them.

He crosses the floor and when he’s a few steps away from the desk Tim grabs Jon by the hips and pushes him upwards, so that he’s leaning against the desk, Tim rising onto his feet as well, pushing him into the desk until Jon’s bent in half, chest and the side of his face brushing against the surface of it. 

“Loosen up,” Tim says, irritated. Jon leans further forward so that he can rest his head on the desk. His chest is heaving with his breaths, and Martin can see his stomach tense, Tim finding a new angle, touching different spots inside of him, finding more leverage to fuck into him. 

“He looks so out of it,” he says quietly, over Jon’s slumped over body. 

Tim snorts. “Took me ages to get him there. He’s a brat.”

Something shoots through Martin at that. He doesn’t know what exactly. Something about the casualty of this all, the way Tim talks about Jon, the fact that he’s put him under like this, the fact that he’s made him all boneless and soft and taken the fight out of him, that Jon’s _let_ him do that. 

“Are you going to choose?” Tim asks. “Want me to pick for you?”

And Martin kind of does want him to pick for him. He feels embarrassed still, unsure of himself, and Tim picks up on it, says “come here.” The tone he says it with is so much softer than how he speaks to Jon. It almost feels too sweet, comparatively, and Martin can feel himself blush. Tim straightens up and takes a step back, slipping out of Jon as he does so, and Jon makes a displeased sound. 

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Tim says conversationally, “I’m going to sit on the desk, and Jon is going to sit in my lap. You’re going to come up behind him and you’re going to fuck him that way.”

Martin nods mutely. His hands feel sweaty. “You can touch him, you know,” Tim says, softly. Martin puts a hand on Jon’s warm back, slides it up, feeling his spine and his shoulder blades, all the way up to his neck, and when he loosely wraps his fingers around it Jon whimpers. 

Tim’s got his hand between Jon’s spread legs, knee nudging them apart every now and then, Jon trying to rub his thighs together, and Martin tries to look away. He tries to look at Jon’s back. His neck. His hair. His knuckles turning white where he’s gripping the edge of the desk. His trembling wrists. Tim’s hand makes wet, slick sounds working Jon open, and Martin can’t stand this, suddenly, and he nestles in closer to Tim.

“Hi,” Tim says. “You want to do this?” 

“Yeah, I – yeah, okay.”

Tim hands him the bottle of lube. Martin clicks the cap open and squeezes some on his hand, on his fingers, and then Tim moves aside, just a little, two fingers still inside of Jon, and he doesn’t take them out until Martin puts one of his own in alongside of his. Martin’s fingers are thicker than Tim’s, and it’s a stretch, Jon clenching around them. Tim slides out, and Martin feels strangely naked, suddenly. He’s still wearing his boxers.

It’s kind of ridiculous. This is not in any way his first time doing this. It’s just the absurdity of the situation. The shock of it. Jon who hardly even wants his fucking _tea_ letting him put his fingers – and _dick_ – inside of him. 

Tim reaches a hand between Jon’s legs between his body and the desk. He grinds it against Jon’s cock, slow and merciless, and Martin feels him clench, hard. Seconds pass and he doesn’t relax again, clenched tight and secure and relentless around him. Martin tries to move his finger, continue stretching him but it’s hard, and he stills his hand, unsure of what to do. 

“Oh, yeah, he does that,” Tim says, noticing the puzzled look on Martin’s face, and takes his hand away. Jon whines in frustration, but he relaxes again, and Martin puts in another finger, spreading him open around them. He’s split between wanting to take his time, to make it as sweet as possible, a selfish desire to stretch it out for as long as he can, and being uncomfortably aware of the fact that Tim is waiting, that Jon looks like he’s been ready to come for hours. He takes a quick look at Tim, who smiles, goes “you can go faster. He can take it.”

So Martin makes a quick work of it, of _Jon_, three fingers in, teases him with the tip of a fourth, and Tim goes “okay, that’s enough,” and Martin pulls his fingers out with a wet sound. Tim takes Jon by the hips and pulls him up, and he gets on his feet obediently, unsteadily, wobbling just a little bit. __

_ _“Here,” Tim says, “hold onto him for a second.”_ _

_ _Jon falls against Martin’s chest, and his heart almost stops for a second. He wraps an arm around his middle, and suddenly he’s painfully aware of how _small_ he is, how light. Ribs sticking out just a little bit too much. The top of his head barely reaches Martin’s chin. _ _

_ _Tim gets settled on the desk. “Hope this can handle the both of us,” he says, and then he’s reaching out for Jon. Martin has to help him up, and as soon as he’s hovering over Tim’s lap Tim guides him down, Jon sinking down onto Tim’s cock, hissing and twitching, and when he’s all the way in Jon says “_please_.” He’s all out of breath. Martin isn’t sure if he should find it quite as appealing as he does. _ _

_ _Martin takes off his underwear with some hurry, and Tim scoots towards the edge of the desk, just enough that Martin can slot his chest against Jon’s back. He’s almost exactly the right height for this, he thinks, the tip of his cock pressed against Jon’s skin. He lubes up and takes a deep breath, and then he’s sinking in. _ _

_ _Jon takes a surprised, sharp breath and tenses up, and Tim reaches up, lightning fast, pulls on a nipple and goes “relax,” as if that’d help, and Martin feels like he’s been knocked breathless. He can feel Tim’s cock through the thin skin separating them, hot and hard and thick. He’s trying hard to not start shaking. Jon moans, low, and Martin exhales against his neck. He must feel so full._ _

_ _“Do you need me to stop?” Martin asks quietly. Jon shakes his head slowly. Tim, ignoring this attempt at tenderness grabs Jon’s hips, picks him up a few inches, drops him back down. The sensation is dizzying, and Martin has to grab a hold of the edge of the desk to not fall over. Jon’s breath catches in his chest, and Martin sinks in further, all the way to the root, and he has to stay still for a long second, hands clenched into fists, Jon’s warm body squeezing him tight. _ _

_ _Finding a rhythm like this is hard – Tim can’t find the leverage to actually fuck him, and Jon can’t ride them both, not like this, so Martin’s left fucking him the best that he can from this angle, but it’s enough, he thinks, hearing Jon’s broken moans, the way he twitches and clenches and shivers. Tim doesn’t stop moving his hips, and even if he’s not thrusting or fucking in_to_ him he’s still moving inside of him, a constant motion of his cock rubbing and pressing against all the sensitive spots. Every time he brushes against a particularly good spot Jon jerks almost violently, and Martin wants to hold him, to kiss the back of his neck._ _

_ _Martin’s trying to make it last, but it’s too much – the heat, the tightness, the wet lubed-up slide of his cock, Tim’s dick grinding against his through the skin and tissue separating them. Jon’s ragged, stuttering breaths and the way he moans, low and desperate when Tim teases him with a hand on the inside of a sensitive thigh, on his cock, rubs it with two fingers. _ _

_ _“I’m gonna come,” he says with some difficulty. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s not wearing a condom. “Should I pull out?”_ _

_ _“No,” Tim answers for Jon, who moans into Tim’s shoulder. “Although you _could_ do that, and then I could hold him open for you to jack yourself off into, –” Jon whimpers, “ – _or,_” Tim continues, “we could see if he’s opened up enough for you to fit in here with me.”_ _

_ _Jon clenches down at that, hard, muscles all tensing, and Tim pinches him hard, goes “stop that.” Jon makes a high, sorrowful noise, and Martin looks up at Tim, bewildered._ _

_ _“Was he –”_ _

_ _“Gonna come? Yeah.”_ _

_ _And fuck, that’s hot – Martin’s head is buzzing, the heat in his belly boiling over, and he thrusts into Jon, fast and deep and careless and then he’s coming, hard and long, every twitch of his cock making him rub against Tim, noise spilling out of him like he’s been squeezed around the middle._ _

_ _He feels exhausted to the bone, after. Tim waits patiently for him to come back to himself, keeping himself busy with pushing a finger into Jon next to his cock, filling him up further. Martin can feel it. The stimulation makes his softening cock twitch almost painfully. _ _

_ _He pulls out eventually, a trail of lube and come following his cock. “Okay,” he says. _ _

_ _Tim smiles at him, and then without a warning he picks Jon up like it’s nothing, puts him on the floor. Jon’s knees buckle and Martin rushes to hold him up. Jon rubs his cheek against his chest, goes “_Martin_,” dreamy and soft, and Martin’s chest tightens. _ _

_ _Tim hops down from the desk. He seems barely affected._ _

_ _“Okay, can you lie him on his back across the desk?”_ _

_ _“Yeah,” Martin says softly. He half-carries Jon back towards the desk, the few little steps, and when his hip hits the edge he helps him up and onto it. And god he looks so good; beautiful and vulnerable, every part of him exposed, and Martin wants to just _look_, just look at him, but Tim comes to stand between his legs, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, and Jon spreads his legs eagerly. _ _

_ _So Martin watches as Tim slides back in in a single, smooth motion, sinks all the way into him. He watches the way Jon’s cock twitches helplessly, how his mouth shapes itself around the noises he makes, the way his muscles tense and relax. Gorgeous. _ _

_ _“You can touch him, you know,” says Tim, and he grabs Martin’s wrist before he can say anything, places his open palm over Jon’s cock, just centimeters away from Tim’s where it’s sliding in and out of him, wet and easy and fast. _ _

_ _Jon bucks up into the touch, almost sobbing with the promise of it, and he says _please_, again, begging for Martin to do something for the second time, and Martin presses against his beautiful, flushed cock with his hand, rough and unthinking. Jon’s eyelids flutter shut, eyes rolling back in his head. Martin’s pretty sure he sees Tim slide two fingers into Jon where he’d been left empty when Martin had pulled out. _ _

_ _He can feel the irregular, desperate twitching of Jon’s cock under his hand, and he rubs harder, faster – determined – and Tim goes “okay, go ahead,” strained, his own hips stuttering, and as if on command Jon unravels completely under Martin’s hands, thighs tensing and shaking, trying to close around Tim’s hips. He comes in three long, definitive pulses, and Martin’s there for him throughout it, consistent pressure on him, Jon sobbing openly with relief. _ _

_ _Martin’s vaguely aware of Tim coming, cursing loudly, his whole body convulsing. Martin wants to touch Jon’s face. His fingers are covered in lube and slick. He doesn’t touch him._ _

_ _Tim pulls out. “Now that’s a good look,” he says, pleased and smug. Martin leans over reflexively. He’s right. There’s come leaking out of both of his holes, just barely gaping open, and Martin exhales softly. His cock twitches, and this time it definitely hurts. There’s this weird sense of longing, this weird ache in his chest, and he pushes it aside. What a strange fucking thing to feel this way about. _ _

_ _They get dressed in silence, Martin pulling on his underwear and trousers as fast as he can, not bothering to make sure he’s putting them on the right way out or around. Tim takes a while, and he keeps touching Jon the whole time he’s putting on his trousers, buttoning them up. Just brushing a hand over his skin, combing his fingers through his hair. It looks way too intimate for what Martin knows Tim thinks of Jon. It’s weird. It’s so weird._ _

_ _Martin tries to figure out how to start the sentence. “Do you – should I –” _ _

_ _“Nah,” says Tim, “I’ll take care of him.” _ _

_ _Martin’s heart lurches in his chest at his choice of words. Right. _ _

_ _“Okay,” says Martin, awkwardly. “Well. I should go, um. Clean up. I could bring tea later? Fifteen minutes?” _ _

_ _Tim smiles at him. “Okay,” he says. Martin realizes Jon’s still naked, and feels embarrassed and bashful. Like he knows too much. Too late for that now._ _

_ _“Right,” Martin says, and unlocks the door. “See you.”_ _

_ _“See you,” says Tim back, amused. _ _

_ _Martin slips into the hallway and closes the door behind him. His hands are shaking. He curses to himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _ _

_ _This surely won’t make anything awkward, he thinks. Not awkward at all._ _


End file.
